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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624080">A Caged Mind and A Careful Heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonmidnightpoetry/pseuds/Neonmidnightpoetry'>Neonmidnightpoetry</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bohemian Rhapsody - Fandom, Borhap/hardzello</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A little angst, Confused boys, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, happy ending!, probs no smut..we'll see</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:49:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonmidnightpoetry/pseuds/Neonmidnightpoetry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben loves Joe and Joe loves Ben, but they are separated by an ocean and miles of self-doubt. Both are different yet exactly the same, and mirror each other in many ways. Each must face their fears-whether it be the people around them, the person they love, what people may think, or the scariest beast of all...themselves. Both fight for a love neither of them knew they needed, and learn that nothing precious ever comes easy. Both are afraid to crash and burn but as always, their friends are there to save them from themselves. One decides that he would rather be happy and be scorned by the society he grew up in than lose this once-in-a-lifetime love, and the other throws all his fears to the wind and lets them go wherever they please. So when their mundane reality shatters, both come out the other side with clearer heads and ready hearts. A love like this comes once-in-a-lifetime, and completely changes their perception of the reality in which they live. Walls will come tumbling down, released along with unbridled fear and joy. Making the leap is always the most terrifying part- it's the falling that's easy. This is the story of how two men grew up, learned to love, and finally became fearless.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hardy/Joe Mazzello, Lucy Boynton/Rami Malek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1: Ben Hardy vs. Instagram</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first ever fanfiction so feedback is definitely welcome! I don't know my way around the website just yet, so any tips and tricks would be wonderful. I am sorry this is so long, (I have problems) but if you make it through I promise it'll be worth it! It honestly might be trash, but there are a few saving graces I think. :) Feel free to notify me about any spelling mistakes (Grammarly and I tried really hard but still) and if you have any suggestions or comments I can't wait to hear them!</p><p>I love yall &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ben’s P.O.V Ben wakes up slowly and stiffly, squinting his eyes in the early morning light. He rubs at them blearily and tries unsuccessfully to burrow his face back into the soft pillows of his drab hotel room. No such luck. Finally accepting defeat at the hands of his obvious discomfort, he rolls lazily toward the mahogany nightstand that’s placed beside the bed and picks up his charging phone. Ben was, by nature, distractible...a quality that led to him dropping items (like his phone) quite a bit when other more interesting things caught his eye. Running his fingers over the lightly scratched covering, he unlocks his iPhone quickly. First, he checks his messages: one from his mother, inquiring about his current job, some from some old school friends, but none, he notices with a slight pang of disappointment, are from the “Borhap Boys" group chat. Joe had half-drunkenly dubbed it so one night and, surprisingly, the name had stuck. Now he looks down at the inactive text chain and wishes, vaguely, that someone else was up and texting. Ben wasn't normally the one to start these conversations, or any conversation really. Holding true to his quiet nature, he preferred to let others do the talking, at least at first, and especially this early in the morning. Closing out of messages, he proceeds to robotically check his various social media, eyes skimming quickly through posts, unseeing. Nothing exciting catches his bleary gaze, that is until he opens his Instagram. He notices quickly that he has two recently updated posts from both Joe and Gwil, along with what seems like half the known population's comments blowing up beneath. “That's odd,” he thinks. He clicks on Gwil’s feed first, and his green eyes grow almost imperceptibly wider. Quickly checking Joe's platform, he sees the same two pictures have been posted there as well. On Gwil's page, the tag reads: “Here with Joey in the States! Flew in to surprise him last night!” followed by a selfie of a grinning bright-eyed Gwilym, next to a grumpy half-awake Joe. “Okay, kinda cute,” laments Ben, still half-asleep himself. He pouts exaggeratedly, knowing he's just being silly, but he kind of wishes he was in the States with all his buddies. Especially Joe.</p><p>Crap.</p><p>It is legitimately <em>too freakin’ early</em> for these kinds of thoughts, he tells himself sharply. Willing his brain to just <em>please</em> shut the hell up, he scrolls down to the next picture. The next selfie wakes him right up and out of his sleep-induced stupor.</p><p>The comment by Gwil reads, “Jealous, Hardy?”</p><p>The blatantly obvious taunt from his friend makes him furrow his brows confusedly, and he drags his eyes down to the picture.</p><p>Oh.</p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>“What the hell?” he thinks, his eyes squinting as he inches the phone screen closer to his face, as if that act would somehow make the picture less...shocking? The image displays yet another selfie of Gwil and Joe, but this time, the two are much closer. Like, <em>really</em> close. And Ben doesn’t like it. At all.</p><p>Surprise, surprise.</p><p>Joe's head is resting back on the pillows, his torso wrapped in powder blue sheets, and Ben can only assume that he's in his bed back in New York. The collar of his rumpled t-shirt sticks out above the rippled expanse of sheets, a deep black that contrasts with his pale complexion. His eyes are closed, long lashes casting thin shadows down the expanse of his pale cheeks. He is smirking, with his neck angled up toward the camera almost tauntingly, and his angled jawline seems to be the main attraction point of this picture. But it's really not Joe's alluring and...<em>interesting</em> choice of a position that's caught Ben's attention at the moment in the picture, though, he admits, he does look good. It's Gwilym. Lovely, endlessly tall, gentlemanly, straight, Gwilym. “What the hell is he <em>doing</em>?” Ben wonders again, growing a bit agitated now. Because Ben’s confused. And he hates being confused because this picture doesn’t look like a joke anymore and he’s not sure how to handle it. Gwil's got his face dangerously close to Joe's bared neck. He's smirking, just like Joe, but he flashes his pearly teeth, whereas Joe's mouth is closed. His teeth are centimeters away from the place where Joe's jaw arches up into a steep angle and where the pieces of his jaw join together. It's the spot that Ben's had to yank his eyes away from more than a few times before he was caught staring.</p><p>Because he kind of wants to bite it.</p><p>Shut <em>up</em>.</p><p>And because it's normal to be staring at your best friend's jawline for exceptionally long periods of time and thinking about casually leaning over and brushing the soft skin of your best friend’s neck with your teeth, just to see if they really tasted as good as he looked.</p><p>Yup.</p><p>Totally normal.</p><p>Ben feels an odd stirring in his chest, almost like his heart is twisting and tightening sharply. He wants to believe that this feeling is just merely a coincidence. Perhaps he just sat up too fast, he reasons with himself. Or...maybe it was heartburn! (Literal lies he knows, because he is in peak physical condition, and he’s only 29 years young, goddamnit!)</p><p>Yup, that was definitely it.</p><p>He says this, just like he wants to believe the slight red mark under Joe’s jawline is from a creased pillow, or a previous scratch, or that his ever-developing feelings for a certain loud-mouthed, ginger-haired, pale-skinned castmate just means they are only the best of friends and nothing more, but the truth always has a way of breaking through the thick layer of lies and deceit we desperately tell ourselves in order to protect our small, delicately scarred hearts. You can’t cheat the truth...not for long, anyway, and Ben’s just beginning to understand that.</p><p>Deep in his heart of hearts though, in the place buried so deep inside him, he isn’t entirely sure it exists sometimes, his heart beats, a constant rhythm of his truest feelings. In a place so long filled with dark shadows and dusted with illiteral cobwebs, his feelings begin to spill and overflow, colorful and dangerously bright, raging against the logicality of his brain in a constant fluxing battle for control over his mind. “Always lead with your head, not your heart,” he thinks. The words settle in his mind and seem to hang suspended around his shoulders, chilling him slightly. The deeply rooted words shock him back into reality as his brain works frantically to fabricate an explanation that will convince his heart he really feels nothing. He’s Benjamin freaking Hardy for god’s sake. He doesn’t like guys. He can’t like guys. It’s not part of the image. His image. The image that so many producers and photographers and modeling companies and people he doesn’t even care to know about have made for him.</p><p>Be robotic.</p><p>Perfect.</p><p>Ice-cold and untouchable.</p><p>Chin up, eyes forward, lips out.</p><p>Nothing but piercing eyes, a swoop of blond hair and a practiced smolder, with nothing behind the pretty face.</p><p>A model, a poser, a mask.</p><p>He’s heard it all.</p><p>The labels and the names hurt like hell, and he hates that even now, the words of people he doesn’t even know can wound him like this. Leave him stuck lying in his bed, crippled by sadness and frustration over things he knows he can’t change, tearing at his face, his hair, his skin. It seems cruel that people say these things bearing the impact they will have on a person in mind while they spit their poisonous words, but do it anyway. And maybe that’s the reason they do it, to make others feel what they’ve felt.</p><p>This is <em>probably</em> why he has trust issues.</p><p>Everyone’s got a place like this though. An untouchable place inside them that they avoid at just about all costs. Everyone’s got a place like this in their minds or in their hearts. A gaping black hole filled with buried pain and darkness and longing. But there’s also color there. Bright, beautiful, blinding color. It aches to be set free, just like everyone in reality aches to be set free, too. And Ben kind of hates that part of him right now, as it rears its ugly head at seven o’clock in the morning. It’s too <em>early</em> to be having to deal with these kinds of emotionally compromising feelings. Feelings are gross and <em>messy</em>. He wrinkles his nose just thinking about all the trouble it could potentially cause him. There's no time to set up a barricade, a wall to protect himself. And he hates his mind for thinking the stupid thoughts in the first place. And he hates Joe for looking so damn good, and so damn <em>right</em>, and for Gwil for having Joe all to himself. He hates this stupid rigged-up society, and this unbalanced hate-filled world. He hates the social normalities and the constant cultural standards. But most of all, he hates himself for not coming to these mind-blowing conclusions earlier.</p><p>And so his heart accepts the truth long before his stubborn mind can. He knows subconsciously that the stirring in his chest is jealousy. He doesn’t want to examine the feeling further yet, not before he’s at least had some coffee...or maybe some alcohol. He knows that the mark beneath Joe’s jaw is probably from Gwilym’s stubble, or maybe from his teeth, which sends a spark of anger? through his body. He knows they’re just friends, but still, what the heck? What are they playing at? He shouldn’t hate that picture as much as he hates it, but he does. And so he shoves that feeling down too to be examined later, to be turned over like a particularly enrapturing pebble, until perhaps Ben can finally understand all the jagged pieces and edges and smooth them all out with his fingertips. And then he begins to think that maybe, just <em>maybe</em>, the feelings he has for Joe might stretch beyond the limits of “just friends.” In fact, well, he knows they do.</p><p>With this disarming realization lying heavy in Ben’s mind, he suddenly feels sick to his stomach. Quickly checking Joe’s platform, the comments below the pictures, he notices, vary slightly from Gwilym’s.</p><p>Joe’s read: “Look who traveled all the way from across the pond to see me! He flew in last night as a surprise :)”</p><p>Under the second picture, it reads, “Jealous, @Ben_Hardy?” and also: “Haha...I don’t know if the real Ben is, but I know for certain that Cardy B is throwing me some serious side-eye from across the room!”</p><p>If this were perhaps a different kind of situation entirely, Ben might have found the comment funny. Maybe if it weren’t so obviously directed at him. But now he doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t. He just feels kind of...alone. And sort of angry. Which he is pretty certain he isn’t supposed to be feeling after seeing a “cute” and “innocent” picture of two of his best friends together. In a bed. Really. Freakin’. Close.</p><p>
  <em>Jesus. Just stop it.</em>
</p><p>“Just focus on what you have to write back,” he prods himself gently. Because he has to write back. He has to. To keep this stupid joke going, to pretend that the pictures don’t bother him and that the teasing words don’t <strike>always</strike> sometimes ignite a small flame of anger in him. Because it’s all just some stupid charade, right? Just some game played by the guys to entertain their fans, and to make light of the situation when they’re so far apart, separated by more than just oceans and land. He doesn’t realize his hands are shaking slightly until he tries to type out his reply. Willing himself just to <em>calm the hell down</em>, and reminding himself that:<em> it doesn’t matter anyway, it’s only just a stupid post,</em> he begins to type up an answer.</p><p>One post amongst hundreds he’s made that have hurtled across the expanse of cyberspace and onto his friend’s screens. He’s done it before, and, much to his disdain, he assumes that he will do it again.</p><p>He types, “Lookin’ good, @Joe_Mazzello &amp; @Gwilym_Lee! Poor Cardy B having to put up with your canoodling...believe me, you’re getting the side-eye all the way over in London too. It’s getting kinda lonely over here...”</p><p>He hits send, hoping that he came off as indifferent and playful as he could. Hating himself for overthinking what he had just written, he scrubs a hand over his face and decides he wants to take a shower.</p><p>Maybe the soap and water will rinse all his feelings down the drain right along with the sweet-smelling shampoo.</p><p>He desperately hopes so.</p><p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2: A Bright and Colorful Insanity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ben has some ground-breaking revelations. He struggles to come to terms with all the new information that's whirling around in his brain, and he's not entirely sure that he's still clinically sane. He battles his own hate-driven thoughts, and dreams of a certain ginger-haired man leading him to wonder if he should act on his new-found feelings. Dreams and reality mix until he can't tell which way is up or down. Accepting is the first step on Ben's list, and he knows that there's no going back now.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Since I'm posting some of my chapters within the same day-ish, I still have no idea how to navigate this place, so, again, help is most definitely welcome! Feel free to comment and give feedback. I hope everyone liked the first chapter! I have more to post, and I'm not entirely sure how long it's going to be, but once I get to the end of my pre-written chapters, I'll see if anyone wants me to continue!<br/>(Also this chapter has brief mentions of blood (small accidental cut with a razor) so take heed of my warnings darlings &lt;3)</p><p>Everyone stay safe and healthy, please! (Freddie would want you to) Lots of love ;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ben puts his phone down on the nightstand with a little more force than was probably necessary and makes his way to the bathroom. Every surface in this goddamn hotel is colored in about three slightly different shades of beige.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a truly riveting color palette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The uniform and monotone “sameness” of this place makes Ben kind of want to splash any other color of paint up on these drab walls and onto these drab people. He knows that’s absolute lunacy, but stuffs his hands in his pockets all the same, resisting the sudden wild urge. It feels like this room and these colors and these faceless, nameless, beige people are sucking the life out of him, and it’s unsettling. He would bet money that if you cut any of the robotic-looking staff people open, with their unseeing lifeless eyes, all you would find inside would be an expanse of endless cold metal and a tangle of wires. No color, no organs, no heart pumping blood, feeling emotions, no life within at all. The thought disgusts him, so he shakes it off and he steps into the tan-tiled shower, (Honestly! He could have done a better job picking the palette for this place with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back!) and allows himself to let go and loosen slightly as the hot water hits his tight shoulders. His shower is quick this morning, wasting water and time seems to be a luxury he won’t allow himself to have today. He steps out and wraps a folded towel around his waist and knots it tightly. He takes out his travel kit and begins to shave his face. And as he does, he looks at himself reflected in the mirror. He knows he looks good. He’s not by any stretch of the imagination a largely egotistical person (especially when it comes to himself), but he <em>does</em> have eyes. He knows this is what handsome is supposed to look like, and he supposes he fits the description smashingly well, according to other people. He works out, he eats fairly healthily. He’s handsome, even beautiful as some would dare call him, but he knows that’s not all he can be, and he knows that’s not all he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also knows though, that most people tend to only see the material things, the eye-catching “pretty” items placed in front of them, not what’s truly underneath. And he knows that even the first time Joe met him, he wasn’t cowed by his looks. Joe saw right through the “pretty boy” facade that had been forced upon him, and he saw the man underneath. And, goddamn it, not many people can do that. He knows that Joe is special, one of a kind, and then he grows upset again, knowing that he can and probably will never have Joe in the way he truly wants him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand displays the quiet frustration he feels within, and it begins to shake for the second time that early morning. He keeps shaving, unwilling to stop and be forced to acknowledge his anger, but he cuts himself. As he gazes at the small scratch on his face, slowly beading and beginning to drip with blood, he seems to float up and away from himself. It’s almost as if he’s having an out-of-body experience. He seems to subconsciously realize that maybe he should stop the blood from trickling further down his face, but his mind’s become so cloudy and thick that it seems like he can’t move his arms. “It’s kind of pretty,” he mumbles numbly to himself, staring at the ruby red smear on his cheek. </span>
  <span>“It looks like paint.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span><em>Paint</em>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paint the walls with colors,” his mind whispers to him, reminding him of his unnerving thoughts earlier. His thoughts, and the overwhelming need to breathe some life and color back into this place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Benjamin Hardy Jones has a sudden irrational fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fear is that the dangerously bright colors inside of him are somehow oozing their way out of the pores in his skin. Letting everyone know who he really is on the inside. The colors and emotions pouring from his eyes, his nose, his mouth. The cage holding his heart has been cracked open, the golden key to it found at long last. The colors and feelings he’s tried so hard to keep locked down are finally spilling over in spiraling tidal waves. And so, in this dreary hotel bathroom, with a cut cheek and shaking hands, Ben finally realizes what his feelings truly mean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, at that moment, he decides he’s truly gone crazy. But then Ben shakes that thought off. Because his love and his feelings aren’t crazy. They mean the most simple yet complicated thing in the universe. His love isn’t stupid, and he knows it is right and perfect. So Ben won’t allow himself to worry about this, not now. Not during what could quite possibly be the most important moment of his entire life. So he stows the crazy, saves the internal self-loathing for another time, and focuses his mind back in on the important stuff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><em>He loves Joe.</em> </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moreover, as he realizes this for the first time, (for it certainly won’t be the last) the bathroom walls seem to spin, and the water dripping in the sink seems to lose all sense of gravity and floats up around his head to circle it like a halo. Everything's upside down and backward, tilted on its axis, and it kind of feels like the end of the world has come rushing up to meet him. But for some unfathomable reason, this chaos seems right. It <em>feels</em> right. It seems like now, maybe his world needed to have been turned upside down for him to realize that upside down was really the right way up all along. No matter how sure Ben feels that this is the right and truest answer, it still feels like his world and his heart and his mind are all exploding from the sheer incredulity of his new discoveries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, Ben dreams of hearts and birds in cages, of shining golden keys and ruby-red paint, beige buildings exploding into vibrant color, and of pale skin and ginger hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Capter 3: It Was All Gwilym's Fault</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gwilym flies all the way from England to save Joe from his own confuzzled self, and does the best he can to worm a well-guarded secret out of Joe. A surreal conversation goes down between the two of them, and all that was shrouded is revealed. Now to figure out how to proceed...and who to deceive.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, y'all! Just so you know, every few chapters I will be changing POVs, so make note of that. This chapter is going to be a bit longer, but the next one from Joe's POV will be shorter, so just hang in there! I hope everyone is staying healthy. Love y'all! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Joe’s P.O.V</p><p>In Joe’s defense, it was all Gwilym’s fault. </p><p>Stupid, stupid Gwilym with all his stupid ideas and his stupidly innocent intentions. </p><p>And while Joe knows that Gwilym was only just trying to help him, he thinks now that maybe he’s truly just made everything worse. Because Joe has a problem. Frankly a huge problem. And that problem’s name is Benjamin Hardy. Joe really hates dealing with problems, and apparently, Gwil had finally gotten sick of Joe’s endless pining and had flown halfway across the world to remedy the situation as best he could. Because that’s what friends do, apparently. They save each other from themselves, and Joe’s really never been more grateful for a person than he is right now…except he’s still kind mad. Under the false pretense that he had a gig lined up, Gwil surprised Joe by texting him at 2 o’clock in the morning, demanding (politely) to be picked up from the nearest New York airport. So Joe, (who was still awake, and up worrying about every small problem in the known universe, because...why not?) had gotten in his car and drove, surrounded completely by darkness and silence toward the airport. To pick up his friend who was going to try and save him from his own stupid self. And he sure hoped it would work, because Joe was beginning to throw sparks, and pretty soon he was going to do something stupid and reckless and erupt entirely into flames and burn everything and everyone down along with him.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>So now Joe stands at the airport gate and waits for Gwilym to magically appear through the terminal gates. Joe sits carefully down on the hard plastic chairs of the waiting area and tries his hardest not to fall asleep. His eyelids are just drifting shut when he feels a light tap on his shoulder. He peers up through hazy eyes and sees an exhausted-looking Gwilym grinning tiredly back at him. Joe rises quickly and stuffs his face into Gwil’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around him. </p><p>A simple “Hi,” is all he can manage right now. Forming actual sentences this late (or early?) seems a nearly impossible feat.</p><p>“Hey mate,” Gwilym replies back.</p><p>“I missed you,” he adds, grinning into the top of Joe’s jacket shoulder from his towering height.</p><p>“Same here, buddy,” Joe admits.</p><p>He had missed his castmates and his friends more than he would ever care to admit.</p><p>“I’ve got my car parked outside, let’s grab your stuff and go get some sleep,” Joe orders, smiling back.</p><p>It’s impossible not to smile when Gwilym smiles, for it’s utterly infectious.</p><p>“Sounds good, my friend,” Gwil responds, gripping Joe’s shoulder warmly for a second, and then picks up his bags, swinging them back and forth slightly as he walks.</p><p>Gwilym doesn’t even really walk, Joe notices. He just kind of lopes gracefully, his long legs making it almost impossible for anyone to keep up. Joe straggles along behind him until Gwil realizes that he had traveled too far ahead and hangs back to wait for Joe.</p><p>Joe smiles gratefully at Gwil and they walk out to Joe’s car. He places Gwil’s luggage in the trunk, closing it quietly so as to not disturb the silence that had seemed to settle in the air around them.</p><p>Gwilym is sitting silently in the passenger seat when Joe opens the car door to get in, and he thinks for a second that maybe he’s fallen asleep, but then he shifts suddenly and stares Joe down.</p><p>Joe puts the car in drive and pulls out of the nearly empty parking lot, trying to ignore Gwilym’s oddly intense gaze.</p><p>Joe can’t stand awkward silences, especially heavy ones, and the current one in the car was breaching dangerously on both categories, so Joe knew he had to do something, <em> anything,</em> to break it.</p><p>“So,” Joe coughs awkwardly, trying and failing to lighten the oppressive quiet. “What about that gig you’re here for? What does it include...and when does it start?” </p><p>A beat of silence passes, and then Gwil answers, sounding sort of guilty, though Joe really can’t imagine why.</p><p>“Well actually, Joe,” Gwilym starts, “there is no gig. I flew in to see you specifically.” Chuckling slightly at Joe’s look of pure astonishment, he continues. </p><p>“Rami sent me a bit of an “SOS” message if you will, and he told me when we were talking that he’s been a bit concerned about you recently.”</p><p>“What? Why?” Joe splutters. “I’m perfectly fine! I’m a grown man and I can take care of myself.” Indignantly, he sticks out his lips, pouting, and unintentionally looking less like a grownup and more like a child.</p><p>Gwil sits in the shotgun seat beside Joe and tries his hardest not to laugh. His poor friend could be so clueless sometimes.</p><p>They sit in silence for a few more moments before Gwilym says suddenly, “Joe, pull over.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Pull over.”</p><p>“What? Why? Are you okay, Gwil?”</p><p>“Just pull over Joe, I’m fine.”</p><p>So Joe quickly pulls over to the side of the heavily wooded road and stops the car, turning around to stare at Gwil inquisitively, waiting for an explanation.</p><p>“Wha-“ Joe starts, but Gwil cuts him off.</p><p>“Nope,” Gwil says, “Nope, I’m sorry, but you need to let me speak,” he pushes on, not waiting for an answer from his bewildered friend.</p><p>“Joe, listen, I know who you are. <em>I</em> <em>know</em> <em>you</em>. Okay? Just remember that, please. And don’t get angry at me for what I’m going to say next, alright?”</p><p>“...Okay?” Joe promises warily. </p><p><em> Where the heck is Gwilym going with this? </em>he wonders. It really is too early in the morning for these kinds of complicated conversations.</p><p>“Good. Now, Joe...you do like Ben, don’t you?” Gwil makes sure to ask this softly, carefully, like he’s trying not to startle a cornered animal, but he can see the fear that floods Joe’s eyes in the instant before the words are even fully out of his mouth.</p><p>Joe blanches as he whips his head around to stare at Gwilym, eyes flashing in the semi-darkness. He looks scared and caught, and Gwilym knows he’s got him backed into a corner. </p><p>Trapped.</p><p>“What?! Of course not! That is absolutely absurd, why would you ever even <em> think </em> that?” He begins to ramble, words pouring out of his mouth like water from a bubbling stream. Joe only rambles when he’s nervous or hiding something, and Joe truly is a terrible liar. “I haven’t even been that <em> obvious</em>, have I?” </p><p>And now the jig is finally up because Gwil has finally forced the truth out of his friend, but he can’t find it in his heart to be sorry, not really. </p><p>Now they can finally move on from all this bloody <em>ridiculous </em>pining, and start to make a plan to get these two lovesick idiots together. (Because really, Gwilym doesn’t know if his mental health can take much more of their gooey lovey-dovey heart-eyes. Even from across their Instagram platforms it’s cute, but <em> utterly </em> sickening.) He lets the weight of what he had just heard from Joe’s mouth sink into his mind, and he looks back at Joe to try and catch his expression.</p><p>Once Joe finally realizes what had just come out of his mouth and that he had essentially just confirmed Gwilym’s suspicions, (and his own swinging sexuality) he stutters to a halt and his eyes drop from Gwilym’s and come to rest on the leather seats of the car.</p><p>Gwil, sensing Joe’s deflated demeanor, puts a warm hand on Joe’s shoulder and tries his best to be comforting.</p><p>“Hey, Joe,” he starts. “Hey, look, mate, this doesn’t change anything. Nothing at all, I promise you.” The more Gwil talks, the thicker his accent gets. If Joe wasn’t so confused and unsure of what to do in this moment right now, he might have even teased him for it. But he doesn’t, because it seems like the end of the world has finally come rushing up to meet him, and he really doesn’t need anyone to be there to see him fall apart. It’s like the world has lost its gravity and Joe feels like he’s staring into a black abyss of uncertainty and he’s being told to jump. He tunes back into what his friend is saying as he continues on with his speech. “-doesn’t matter, because I’ve had some of my own suspicions for a while, and so has Rami.” Gwil admits, looking a bit sheepish at the confession.</p><p>Joe tunes back out for a second as his heart leaps anxiously into his throat, and he kind of wants to crawl into a hole and die now even more so than before.</p><p>How embarrassing! He thought he was being fairly careful not to show his feelings for Ben, but alas, apparently not.</p><p>How horrifying. Though, his mother did always say he was an absolutely <em>terrible </em>liar. </p><p>She truly had no idea (even now) how her son could have ever possibly made it in the acting world because being able to lie to become the role of another character was the barest foundation of the art, and he really <em>could</em> <em>not</em> bluff.</p><p>Tonight was full of all sorts of surprises and revelations, and some of which Joe outright loathes their inevitable appearance into the light. Why did all of this have to happen to him now?</p><p>He wonders if fate does this to everyone just to be entertaining, or if it just really, really, just didn’t like him. </p><p>He also really didn't want to think about how much worse this situation could possibly get, especially not tonight.</p><p>“...and, honestly,” Gwil continues, “I’m glad you admitted it to yourself and me before I finally snapped and went crazy and locked you two in a closet together to work it all out!”</p><p>Joe manages to snort at this, and Gwilym grins, triumphant. He’d managed to make Joe laugh; step one of healing from this (!traumatizing!) conversation was officially complete.</p><p>“Wait, Gwil,” Joe inquires nervously. “Was I really that obvious? Do you think Ben’s ever noticed?” He pales further, his eyes wide as dinner plates, the hue of his skin contrasting starkly with the darkness surrounding them. The color weirdly reminds Gwilym of his mother’s finest China, stark-white and marred and breakable.</p><p>“No,” Gwil answers truthfully, soothingly. “I think he’s got his head so far up in the clouds and his eyes so full of idiotic puppy love for you, that he wouldn’t see if you returned his feelings for him unless you hit him smack in the face with them. And maybe not even then, he seems pretty far gone.” </p><p>And at this, Gwilym begins to giggle. He actually <em>giggles</em>. And Joe thinks because of this one final thing that he’s finally gone over the edge. Because Gwilym freaking Lee is giggling like an idiot next to him, and both of them are sitting in a car in the middle of the night whilst they’re pulled over on the side of the road at three o’clock in the morning surrounded by complete and utter blackness on a road immersed by deep woods, having the most mind-boggling conversation Joe thinks he’s ever had in his life. He almost wonders if this has all been a dream, for the air around him seems to ripple like disturbed water in a pond, giving everything a surreal-like quality. He thinks that maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow morning and realize that he’s dreamt the whole thing up. He was not entirely sure though that his mind’s imagination could have possibly come up with this whole catastrophe of a scenario, and he’s pretty sure that if this was a dream, he would have woken up gasping by now, riddled with left-over confusion and stale fear...but no. Because this seemed far too much like reality to be fake. Gwilym’s hand on his arm feels shockingly real, and it seems to pull him out of his stupor and back into the present.</p><p>“Can we go home now?” Joe groans, laughing a bit. “It was way too early to have been having this conversation anyhow, and now that we’ve had it regardless, it feels like my head’s about set to explode.”</p><p>Gwilym laughs along with Joe, finally feeling the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins from his newfound discovery slow, and suddenly he feels the most exhausted he’s felt in a very long while.</p><p>“As long as you don’t fall asleep at the wheel,” Gwilym jokes, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.</p><p>“Honestly, no promises,” Joe retorts back, yawning.</p><p>And the rest of the ride to Joe's apartment is wrought with silence, but this time a comfortable one. As Gwilym looks at Joe’s profile silhouetted against the beams of the moon, he thinks how lucky Ben is to love such a wonderful man like Joe Mazzello. And the last thought Gwilym has before his brain becomes numb from the overwhelming need for sleep, is that he can’t wait to tell Rami what he’s finally discovered.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Joe, who is lying awake in his bed, more tired than he has any right to be; with Gwilym sleeping just down the hall from him, realizes something very suddenly. He realizes that, in the car, Gwilym had said that Ben was in love with him.</p><p>In love with <em>him</em>, Joseph Francis Mazello III.</p><p>With that realization just sitting idly there like a smooth piece of green sea glass (the green reminded him of the color of someone’s eyes, and they belonged to someone who’s eyes he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember) just waiting to be discovered on the beach by the pale slender fingers of a man with ginger hair, he almost chokes from the sudden swell of emotion that comes flooding up his constricted throat. Because everyone knows that the scarlet fire complements the forest greenery, though sometimes the fire burns the forest down, and sometimes the forest snuffs the fire...but we don’t ever talk about that. It’s all the same with love, but there’s no time for sadness, not now.</p><p>And so in that infinitely long second, in the gray area between the night and the dawn, Joe realizes yet another thing with the utmost certainty...</p><p>He loves him back.</p><p>He loves Ben.</p><p>And before his heart has a chance to pound, or before he has any time to worry about all the trouble this is most certainly going to cause him, Joe is swiftly grasped by the unrelenting iron grip of sleep and succumbs to the blackness.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>The next morning Joe will wake up with a warm feeling pooling in his gut. A feeling that will seem like it had been there all along, not just fully unearthed last night; just because it seems so right that it be there inside of him. And without even really acknowledging it, Joe knows that it feels like love, whatever it is, and in knowing this, he realizes that this is the surest he’s felt about anything in a very long time.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4: Breaking free</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gwil and Joe scheme up some crazy antics, and debate the best way to make a certain level-headed blondie jealous. Now throwing literally all caution to the wind, Joe lets himself let go and decides to make a jump-no matter what the repercussions may be. The first dominos have just begun to fall, and everything's only just beginning.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! Back with some more Joe+Gwil antics! Some crazy stuff is just beginning to get started, so stick around. If you have any suggestions for the next few chapters (I'm all out of pre-written ones) then feel free to make your ideas known! Your wish is my command ;) Also the next chapter is going to be from Ben's POV again, so strap in!<br/>Stay safe and healthy everyone! (Freddie and his cats up in heaven are making sure of it) Love y'all &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Joe is shaken awake by a grinning Gwilym at six-thirty the next morning, squinting at the morning light rushing in through the curtained windows. Taking in Gwilym’s wolfish smirk, Joe starts to feel uneasy. He’s learned not to trust that smile.</p><p>“Okay,” Joe utters, already regretting literally everything that was going to happen today. ‘You’re up to something, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Yup!” Gwilym chuckles, looking more impish with each passing second. “I think I’ve got an idea about what to do with your “problem.”</p><p>Now Joe was all ears, shaking off the last of his lingering exhaustion, because he was going to take (and need) all the help he could get; because a drowning man-no matter how purposely ignorant-will always accept the life ring thrown to him. It’s the basic human instinct of self-preservation. And though this “preservation” is of the mental kind, not the physical, Joe admits he needs it all the same.</p><p>Then Gwilym starts planning, a true force of nature when tasked with a problem, throwing out ideas for Joe to fumble around with. His brain feels like it’s being dragged through the mud, and there's a queasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He hates revealing intimate things about himself to other people, and while he knows Gwil would never use the information against him negatively, his heart stutters at the mere thought anyway.</p><p>“We’re gonna smoke him out,” Gwil finally decides, triumphant.</p><p>“What does that mean?” Joe questions, though he has a feeling he sort of already knows...and he has an inkling that it isn’t good.</p><p>“Let me explain then, my good sir!” Gwilym’s about to go off into “full battle plan mode,” as Joe likes to call it. Once you get him started and rarin’ to go, you could almost never run fast enough to catch up and slow his train of thought back down again. So in knowing that he’s going to be trapped in Gwilym’s verbal whirlwind for the next long while or so, Joe settles back onto his sleep-warmed bedspread and prepares himself to listen. “So, Ben doesn’t know that I’m here with you yet, right?” (Normally Gwil will just spit out these types of rhetorical questions just to make the person who he’s talking to feel included, and Joe knows by now to just keep his mouth shut.) Gwil continues on, eyes glazing over and his hands moving swiftly through the air as if to punctuate the importance of his words. “Right. So I was thinking that he obviously needs to know this important little piece of information, so how are we going to get it to him? Instagram, of course! And so we’ll send a picture out to him, of us both, maybe a selfie...it’ll have to be cute...and after we do that, we go in for the final phase. We’ll have to take another picture together, but this one will be different. I haven’t worked out the logistics yet, but we know it’s gonna have to make our old Benny-boy jealous...that’s the point of it all, isn’t it? And maybe we’ll get him just ticked off enough that he’ll just have to haul his lovesick arse all the way over from London to here, just to come to save you from me!”</p><p>Gwil finishes with a swooping finality, the color high in his cheeks from the exertion of talking so fast. Chest heaving slightly, he gives a huge, almost maniacal smile in Joe’s general direction, and then sits back heavily to watch Joe’s expression as he turns over Gwilym’s ideas in his mind. Joe, who had been squinting his eyes and scrunching up his face throughout the whole conversation, had been trying desperately to keep up with the ideas that came swiftly pouring out of his friend’s mouth. He had, though, inevitably missed some key points and important pieces of the (one-sided) conversation, but nonetheless had managed to grasp the main idea. He thought the whole thing was mad.</p><p>Absolutely mad.</p><p>And the way that Gwilym was grinning at him right now, looking like the cat that had just caught the canary, made Joe think that he had finally flown entirely off his rocker. I mean, it was bound to happen eventually, he thinks. But Joe was pretty sure that he wasn’t entirely in his own right mind either at the moment and decided it was better to go over the edge with someone else than go over alone. Joe, who was probably beginning to edge himself toward the true cliff’s edge of hysteria, took one look at Gwylim’s Cheshire grin, had thought about the insanity of the last 12 hours, and promptly fell into uncontrollable gales of laughter.</p><p>Gwilym confusedly started to join in, until the laughter seemed to shake the very marrow of their bones and it seemed to shake loose their souls, dislodging something foul there and tossing it away forever. Once they had finished, for their mirth did not stop for a good long while, they both felt lighter and more stable, like the situation was somehow much more manageable than it had been five minutes ago. Like there was no longer a sinking sandpit beneath their feet, or a crumbling avalanche threatening to pitch them over the side of the world and into the infinite darkness of the universe. Like they were human again, though they couldn’t recall and didn’t know when or how they ever stopped being so in the first place. Somehow, this feeling had passed between them unspoken, and Joe made a quick decision, based purely on instinct. Even if this whole plan went to hell, he really didn’t care right now. He was tired of hiding and searching and reaching for something that was always just out of his grasp. He was determined. And very, very done with his own on-going bullcrap.</p><p>“Gwilym, my friend,” he chuckled, still breathing hard, that ‘plan’ sounds like complete and utter madness. It really does. Very stupid. But I think that it’s just crazy enough to work and we’re just crazy enough to do it. I want to do it, so let’s get started before I can even begin to talk both of us out of doing this.” Gwilym smiled understandingly and quickly rose to get his phone, his expression excited. He had only seen this kind of determination on Joe’s face in one other setting. The Bohemian Rhapsody movie set. Joe was determined to show his worth then, just like he was now. And he loved seeing it there on his face because it made Joe look alive, like the very atoms of his being were all standing on edge, spitting life and fire.</p><p>Joe was tired of hiding and chasing and loving and not being loved back. He was tired of being scared, and lonely, and worrying about and over-thinking every small move he made. So no matter how badly this could end, he told himself that he wouldn’t let himself regret the choice he had made today, right here and now. Because he's utterly sure that the choice to remain silent about himself and his overflowing feelings for the person he loved would have killed him quicker than what may possibly happen at the end of the road they were starting out on today. He knows the sting of rejection, and he knew that if it comes down to that, Ben rejecting him, it was going to hurt like nothing he’d ever felt before, but he would survive it. It was going to drag his heart to hell and back, through flaming fields of fire and frozen fields of jagged ice, but he would survive. Just like he always did, because that is what Joe does. And no one can live that long with their soul locked and chained in a box built by society before going crazy, for Joe was sure that was the cruelest fate of all. So he said, for one of the first times in his life, “To hell with it all! Stop thinking and just do, for God’s sake! Go, live your dreams, laugh, love fiercely. Enjoy. Every. Second. Go chase after the person you love, and go chase Cupid, with all his stupid little heart-shaped arrows, and go forth unafraid to love.”</p><p>Joe then feels a dam burst in his chest, flooding him and drowning him with his own pent-up emotions. And he welcomes it. He does. Because he knows he’s going to be alright, no matter how things end up, and he’s going to survive because that’s just what he does. He loves Ben Hardy and it’s suddenly so natural, just like breathing. And in that moment, he feels immortal. Just living, breathing, pure life and love. After all, fortune favors the bold, and Joe was done being afraid of himself, of the darkness, and of the unknown. He was going to go in boldly, eyes flashing, body thrumming, crackling raw electricity from his fingertips. And for once, he doesn’t think about the damage that it may cause, the smoke that will rise, the looks it may draw, the whispers that will surely start, because if he’s going to go down in flames, then everything else is going down along with him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Joe, full of new courage, sits up and grins at Gwilym. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s do it,” he says again, simply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Gwilym grabs his phone and Joe’s, and they both begin to plan. The first picture they know will be just a cute one of the two of them, just to let Ben and the world know they’re together over in New York. Joe settles back on the propped-up pillows in his bed and Gwil settles in beside him. Gwil holds up his phone and snaps a picture of him and Joe, smiling like the sun. Joe knows that the over-enthusiastic grin and wake-up call comment was purely to get under Ben’s skin. He laughs at the picture and adds another comment underneath. They both hit post at the same time and they look at each other and their lips tig up faintly, mirroring each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Gwilym starts, breaking the silence.”We’re gonna have to do the other one now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The grin that had stayed glued to his face had started to slip off...and Joe realized that he was unsure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing crazy, just enough to...</span>
  <em>
    <span>aggravate </span>
  </em>
  <span>a certain blonde friend of ours.” “Um…” Gwil trails off, eyes darting through the room, flitting past Joe’s gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I really don’t want this to end badly,” he begins. “I want him to finally get up off his arse and come chase after you, but I don’t want to make him flip out at me, ya know? I don’t want this to end up going horribly, and I do want to help you, but still…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gwilym, it’s okay!” Joe says, reassuring him. “Hey, we’ve all done things like this before, and I’m assuming we’ll do it again. I’m sure Ben will only take it as a joke, and hopefully something only </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly</span>
  </em>
  <span> more, but if he does end up being upset, we’ll just come clean, okay? Nothing to worry about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Gwilym relents, his face sliding right back into a mischievous grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so he directs Joe where to go, how to lay, but Joe does the rest of the placement. He tries to make himself look alluring-after all, he’s done a few photoshoots in his time, and he does know how to smolder, (though he really doesn’t like to). But this time, he reasons, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is for a good cause. He’s got someone to impress. He decides, in the end, to show off his jawline and he smirks, trying to look relaxed but deliberately close to Gwilym. He closes his eyes for a second, then pops them back open to see Gwilym’s position for the photo. Gwilym smirks right back, a devilish look in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” he says. “Hardy’s really screwed six ways to heaven and up to hell, isn’t he?” Laughing, he suggests one final thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to make this awkward, but maybe you could pinch the skin under your jawline to make it redder? Just so...ya know…” “And we could leave the inferences for the general public to make.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe does know what Gwilym is talking about, and does as he’s told. He pinches it quickly, then let’s go, skin stinging slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Gwilym replies. “Now for the final moment of truth!” he says with an exaggerated flourish. He snaps the picture, sends it promptly to Joe, and both hit “post” and watch Instagram blow up before their eyes. </span>
</p><p><span></span><br/>***<br/></p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5: Puzzle pieces, Hallucinations, and A Date With the Devil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ben can't seem to catch a break, and his mind is about 3 billion light-years away from him, stuck permanently in a galaxy far, far away. Ben really does not have the time or the patience right now to be dealing with these kinds of feelings, but these types of things have a way of sticking with you, and these ones are hell-bent on messing up Ben's normal suburban-esque life. Ben has put his crap off for long enough already, and knows he will have to face himself soon. It's nighttime now, and Ben's got a meeting with the devil he can't afford to miss. It's time to face some demons.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! Sorry I didn't post anything last night, I was tired and I didn't feel like writing lol. I hope you guys like this chapter (because I'm literally one humming ball of stress) and I'm not sure any of it makes sense. :) Feel free to add any suggestions for future chapters. The next one will be from Ben's POV again, and the two after that will be Joe's. The next chapter if gonna be alllll about feels, so strap in! I hope everyone is staying healthy + safe. Love y'all &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ben’s P.O.V</p><p>Ben wakes up the next morning pretty darn pissed. And yeah, sure, he’s known as a pretty level-headed guy, but when he wakes up the morning after Joe and Gwil had decided to whip their followers into a bloodthirsty frenzy, he has only one image on his mind when his eyes slip open and he finally regains consciousness. And it was <em> really </em> not the one image he wanted to have in his head after the frustrating day he had had the day before. So before Ben even gets out of bed that day, he knows that any hopes for productivity or even just having a generally decent day were already smashed to bits and pitched hastily out the window. On top of it all, Ben’s got work today, the thought which now looms over his weary head as he tries to coax himself out of bed and out into the world in which other humans dwell. </p><p>Maybe he should call in sick.</p><p>But, nope. Ben was going to be a man about this. It was time to put a brave face on and suck it all the hell up. One stupid picture and one stupid post and one stupid taunt weren’t going to get to him. He absolutely wouldn’t let it. </p><p>It was as simple as that. </p><p>So Ben pulls his aching stiff body out of the stiffer hotel bed and pads across the room to get changed and showered. After making himself look presentable- if only by his own standards-he quickly makes himself an unremarkable breakfast and leaves his hotel room closing the door behind him with a soft creak. Dressed in shoes so shiny, they act like two unconventional and odd twin-like mirrors, he can practically see his own forlorn face staring back at him-inches above the ground. He rushes through the lobby (he really doesn’t have time for polite small talk with the chatty receptionist today) and pushes the smudged glass door of the hotel open with an inaudible sigh. The fresh air helps clear his scattered brain, even if only for a short moment, and Ben savors the welcome reprieve from the chaos that has been building ever since that fateful 24 hours ago.</p><p>Though he feels the fresh air traveling in and out of his lungs as routinely as ever, Ben still kind of feels like he’s hyperventilating-and like he’s choking on all the words and thoughts that want to come rushing up his throat and pouring out of his mouth. So he avoids the endless searching eyes of the strangers he passes by, as if that will help anything to help stem his crazy, and quickly makes his way a few blocks east. He walks fast, hoping that he will be able to shake off the weird feeling that had been floating around his head and shoulders all day, but after a few blocks of comically fast speed-walking, he’s starting to gain some stares, so he slows down only because a.) he realizes the feeling is just growing exponentially, and b.) he knows this isn’t just the type of thing you can outrun. </p><p>Two important realizations dance just out of reach in his mind, tickling his brain, and yet, Ben isn’t entirely sure he wants to unearth those life-altering revelations now, especially surrounded by so many nameless strangers. Ben feels his vision go a bit foggy around the edges, and black spots seem to dance before his eyes, darting and swooping between the unsuspecting pedestrians. He reminds himself to breathe, plasters on his fake-camera smile, and soldiers on through the unforgiving throng of people. People bob and swerve all around him, half of them mostly unaware of their current surroundings, and at this point, his brain was starting to go numb, but he welcomed the empty calm. Everything seemed to bend and twist, and the people in the street began to change as their faces became smears of unremarkable paint, buildings seemed to shrink and grow; some looming over his head, while others seemed small enough to trip over. Things seemed to change colors and shapes and the cotton-candy clouds turned into birds and the birds turned into chalky sidewalk murals that all spelled out the same three-letter name over and over and over again. He swore he kept seeing a flash of ginger hair out of the corner of his eye, or he would hear a laugh that sounded like Joe’s and he would whip his head around so fast he’d give himself whiplash. Now, admittedly, he was just looking for the puzzle pieces of a person where none could be found. He was pretty sure that people had begun to think he was crazy, because they seemed to almost unknowingly part for him, like subconsciously, none of them wanted to catch whatever invisible crazy had started to pour off him.</p><p>Shaking himself off and trying to clear his swimming head, he steps over to the side of a less-busy sidewalk and orders himself to breathe. With every calming inhalation, the buildings stop growing and shrinking, the clouds lose their feathery bird-like wings, and with every exhale, the sidewalk chalk turns back into ordinary and indecipherable scribbles, and Joe’s imaginary laughter fades into the alike laughs of strangers Ben did not know. The pounding beat in his ears slowed and stopped altogether, leaving his ears empty and silent with the sudden loss of the noise. Feeling under control of the first time all day, Ben cracked a small, relieved smile and continued on, being pushed upstream by the thrumming mass of people. Making it to his work with about 15 minutes to spare, Ben sat down in a stiff chair on one of the building’s many script-reading rooms and scrolled lazily through his Instagram. Nothing new has been posted by either Gwilym or Joe, but England is a few hours ahead so he hopes they’re not awake yet-for the sake of them, but also himself. He knows more pictures of his two cast-mates will come fluxing in later in the day, and he mentally steels himself for that, because he cannot have another day like yesterday. He’s got a reading today, and he will not let himself zone out or get caught up in some metaphorical tornado of self-destruction and paranoia. He takes one quick glance at the photos from the previous day-all the while his brain is screaming at him not to-promptly feels sick to his stomach, and powers his phone off and watches the screen go dark with some kind of sick relief.</p><p>Slowly, people from his “new” cast start stumbling through the doorway, some bright-eyed, some bleary-eyed, and some just literally stumbled in over the threshold, eyes glazed over and reeking of a late-night date with the alcohol bottle that had gone very wrong. Ben is pretty sure that if he got to see his own reflection in the mirror right now, all that would stare back at him would be his ashen skin and his own too-wide eyes. Schooling his expression the best he could, his reading run-through started, and his workday was off to a rather shaky start. Lunch break was called a few hours in, and Ben was one of the first people out of that suffocating room. He had messed up on some of his lines, even though the words were literally right in front of his face, and had been pretty spacy throughout the whole endeavor. His castmates had seemed to pick up that something was off, and Ben thought that maybe they were trying to decide if he was stoned or not, but eventually, he just saw them pass it off as the regular and occasional “bad day.” </p><p>If only they knew.</p><p>So Ben was up out of his chair and out the door before anyone else had even had time to blink, and had made his way to the communal kitchen they all shared. In his muddled state of mind that morning, he had forgotten to make himself something to eat and ordered take-out with a disgruntled huff. When the rest of the cast made their way into the kitchen space in which Ben was currently occupying, he gave them each quick fake smiles and retreated into a corner. Normally Ben, being the gentleman that he is, would make idle small talk with his castmates, but today everyone seemed to steer consciously clear of him, to which Ben was grateful. Ben was beginning to wonder if the weird aura that had been hanging about his head all day was visible or something, because people kept giving him odd looks.</p><p>He catalogued this fact and stowed it away, but could not make himself care that people may have thought he was strange. His food was currently making its way to his location, and Ben stepped out the door for a quick smoke to try and loosen his lungs. His food came, and he ate it quickly, not tasting the flavor, and because everything he seemed to put into his mouth tasted like dust and dirt, though he could not figure out why.</p><p>The rest of the day flew by on flitting wings, and Ben was caught between thinking the minutes were passing at an agonizingly slow pace, or they were whipping by at the speed of light. They ended early, <em> probably because of me </em> , he thinks to himself as he throws his work jacket over his shoulder. But, again he couldn’t bring himself to really care-not where he had much larger issues on his mind. This was a new feeling for Ben (the <em> not </em> feeling kind of feeling) and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. The bane of Ben’s existence was based on the need to be loved and accepted, and that always meant he had a constant crushing wait on his shoulders, but now...they just felt strangely empty and light, and he wasn’t sure the new feeling was entirely welcome either. Ben walked home on autopilot, his feet leading him one place while his mind was somewhere else entirely, traveling in a completely different direction.</p><p>When Ben finally made it to his hotel room, he let the thoughts he had suppressed all day come flooding up and out from his subconscious and into his main brainwave. He wasn’t sure he wanted to take this leap yet, because delving into this subject would be no easy piece of cake, but Ben felt convinced that it was time to do this. He couldn’t keep living his life like some half-shell of himself-he wouldn't let himself. That wouldn’t be fair to anyone, least of all to himself. So Ben grabs a bottle of wine out of his tepid hotel mini-fridge, and with trembling hands makes his way to the bed, sitting down with a soft thump and a tired sigh.  Before Ben can begin to talk himself out of this (frankly horrible) idea, he pours some liquor into a glass, knocks his head back swiftly, completely draining the cup of its contents and grimaces. Filled with an increasing amount of liquid courage, Ben closes his eyes, and for the first time that day, allows his mind to take over. He knows he will come out the other side of this-quite possibly-an entirely new and different person. So with this terrifying thought weighing heavy in his mind, he takes one last comforting sip of his drink before he allows his raging thoughts to envelop him completely. Ben's got a meeting with the devil that he can't afford to miss.</p><p>It was time to face some serious demons.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6: Whisky, Murky Memories, and Hopeful Plane Tickets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ben has an even worse day than the day before. He can't catch a break and he doesn't know what do do with himself. So once he's mildly sober again, he sits himself down and tries to sort himself out. Things happen and internal and external chaos ensues. But Ben may just come out the other side of this a new (and hopefully better) person. Also, he's going to need to buy himself a plane ticket.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey my darlings! Sorry I've been MIA lately, I've been having trouble getting the words out and I've been busy. Quarantine just got busy again. ;) I hope some of you have stuck around for more, and I will try to post more often, I promise! A quick shoutout to some lovely people in the comments, thank you so much for those! They really made my day:) <br/>I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy!<br/>(A few quick notes though, there is a quick bit of internalized homophobia in this chapter, but it is worked through. No disrespect meant in any way.) And it's kind of funny, but I feel like I'm starting to see a bit of myself in the way I'm portraying the characters...very weird! :)<br/>I love ya'll!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ben’s POV</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben wakes up the next morning with a panicked gasp and a killer hangover. Almost dropping the crystal glass that had been clutched with a vice-like grip in his hand, he wipes the spilled beads of liquor off before they stain his jeans. His neck hurts, his eyes sting and it seems he fell dead asleep while still wearing his clothes. He tries to assess the damage through the obfuscated murk of his sleep-addled brain, and ultimately deduces a few things about himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Firstly, he was an absolute wreck. His eyes were stinging, his face felt tight and raw from all the dried tear stains that had made their sneaky escape across and down the twisted plains of his face, and he had a crick in his neck-which he knew meant that he was going to have to turn his body a complete 180 if he wanted to talk to someone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was going to look like an idiot. Maybe he just wouldn't go outside today, lest he risks unintentionally harming another human being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Secondly, he had fallen asleep in his clothes (which he </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> does) and now the sickening aroma of sweat, salt, and liquor clung to him like a static-charged storm cloud. His jeans had creases his iron could and would never straighten out, and his t-shirt had seemed to have melded to his body like his own repugnant suit of armor. Ew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, lastly, Ben was scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really. freaking. scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben wasn’t one to express emotions in public or wear his heart out on his sleeve. Yeah sure, he cried at/because of movies all the time, but crying that was caused by pent-up emotions and his own despondency about bad situations...that was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge</span>
  </em>
  <span> nope. Emotions are complicated and involve many multi-faceted layers, and Ben really was a stickler for simplicity. He was worried, and rightfully so. This was all new territory for him. A new and undiscovered land with depths that delved deeper than the bottom of the ocean, and ones that captured the mystery and the unknown of the nebulous and infinite universe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when Ben woke up that morning, his vision clouded, his mind rushing past and up and around, everything seemed to be on fire like the good amber whiskey sloshing around in his glass. He was confused, drained, (though he’d slept off most of the fallout from his emotional breakdown) and he wanted to tear himself out of his own skin. Ben didn’t think he could handle himself right now, (lies...he knew he couldn’t) so he stayed glued to the couch and breathed in and out, trying to calm himself down. Unlike the day before though, he had no such luck. Running his shaking fingers through his sweat-dried hair, he gets to his feet swaying and decides to make himself breakfast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed to kill this hangover before it killed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And also, Ben was pretty sure it was too early in his life for him to be having a midlife crisis, so this wouldn't fly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Halfway to the kitchen (and after almost throwing up twice) Ben decides that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably</span>
  </em>
  <span> needs the day off from work. But definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> because he’s having a bit of an identity crisis. Nope. It’s because he just needs a break from all the long, dragging hours of work. He hasn’t called in a day sick yet-for which now he is extremely grateful-and knows his boss won’t inquire after him. Ben’s a hard worker and knows that sometimes being an obsessive over-achiever has its perks. Ben finally makes his way into the small kitchen of his hotel and tries to prep for his meal, praying he won’t light anything on fire. He calls into work quickly, trying to sound as sober and mentally stable as possible, fabricating his half-truths at a rate faster than his own brain can keep up with. He doesn’t like lying, but he knows that no one would gain anything from him being at work today...he would probably just stare blankly at a wall and try not to scream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So yeah, he’d be essentially and utterly useless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben keeps the conversation short and sweet, hanging up as soon as he can without sounding rude. He cooks absentmindedly, though his thoughts are now back with an even stronger vengeance than before. And before long, Ben’s mind begins to wander away from his food and his reality, and into much more dangerous waters. And as they do, he quickly shuts the burner off, now </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> sure that he will end up setting fire to something if he doesn’t. He decides to eat his half-cooked breakfast on the scratchy carpet of the hotel “living room” and contemplate his thoughts with a clear(er), mind, and a sober head. Ben liked to categorize and make things neat, and so if he could begin to do that with his thoughts (instead of drinking himself utterly senseless) then maybe he would finally get somewhere and gain some ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He starts with the basics. These few fragments are the bare-bones of his new discoveries, and they’re all he has left to build on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He begins with what he knows for sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches as far back into his memories as he can, trying to grasp anything that may help him make sense of himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben remembers a few things all at once, though others-perhaps the more important ones-take longer to float themselves to the surface of Ben’s consciousness. The first memory that sticks out in Ben’s brain is this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his second year of modeling, he had met a man named...Dave? Derek? Daniel? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel. His name was Daniel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was one of the most beautiful men Ben had ever seen, (though like </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> he would ever admit that to anyone) with jet-black hair and eyes that were even darker. His eyes were the thing Ben remembered most about the man. They seemed blacker than his hair, blacker than the dark side of the moon, blacker than everything and anything at all. There was something that always nagged at the back of Ben’s mind, something that seemed a bit...off about the guy. But despite his unease, Ben took one look at his practiced, award-winning smile and was lost to those eyes. But Ben never even got to say even a word to the man before he was requested to model for a company in New York. Ben never saw him again, and he never tried to find him, for his unease about those eyes never left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben’s second memory was more recent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was standing in a club filled with hundreds of people, all swaying together on the dance floor. The air was thick with a sharp smell that left a sweet aftertaste clinging to his lips like the sweat to his forehead. He didn’t really know why he was here, he didn’t like to dance, not in public anyway. Ben watched the people on the dance floor from a corner of the room, a drink clutched in his sweaty palm. The people were mesmerizing to watch. Though no direction was given, they seemed to be in utter synchronization with each other, bobbing and swerving and dipping and flirting. They as one giant body moved like the dirtiest yet most graceful thing Ben had ever seen and he was utterly captivated by the energy they were emitting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed to line the room and fill it up with a kind of energy you could only find on nights and in places like these.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered, just for a moment, what it would feel like to step into the sea of writhing, moving people. Would they part for him? Would he get swallowed up by the lights and the music and the bodies and come out a new and different person? Or would he become like them, letting his fears and insecurities be stripped away like the glamor of the people as their makeup ran and smudged under the hot bright lights?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered what it would be like to be part of one whole body, to let himself be carried by the movement of others, to let himself close his eyes and feel the bass beat along with the steady rhythm of his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he wasn’t going to do that. Not tonight, and maybe never. Because dancing and forgetting with people he didn’t know, strangers, wouldn’t fix the emptiness gnawing a ragged hole in his chest. Ben had discovered something when he had walked into that unremarkable bar that night. No matter how many eyes trailed over him, picking him apart, no matter how many drinks were offered to him, by both men and women, he didn’t feel anything towards them. He was polite, but kept his distance. He was missing something, searching for something, and that ache had started that night and continued to grow-it wouldn’t stop. He figured that he was looking for a person to fix the leak that had sprung inside him, and he needed to find them before that leak became a waterfall and he drowned himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so he looked. He stared at the crowd mingling before his sharp gaze and waited. He didn’t expect to find anyone, but there was no harm in looking. He swore as time went on that he could almost feel the lilt of their laugh, could almost see the color of their eyes or the smile that split their face right open, but when he turned around, no one was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And lastly, Ben’s third memory was the most recent of all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was nervous, Ben remembered that for sure. It was the first day of his new acting job and he was going to meet his new co-workers today. He knew going into making this movie that it was going to be one of the highlights of his career-he could already feel it. This movie was going to be huge, and he knew that it would be unlike anything he had never done before-and something he would probably never do again. And so, because he was so nervous and because he wanted to make a good impression, Ben was early and was the first one in the meeting room. He sat there checking and re-checking his email to make sure he had gotten his times right, and wished everything would just start already. Ben hated waiting, in his opinion, it was the worst part of anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally person by person, people started to trickle into the room. And person by person, he got up to shake their hands and give them each a practiced smile. Then a man walked in and grinned across the room at Ben from his towering height. His head almost hit the low-built awning of the doorway as he made his way through it, but gave a practiced duck. He shook Ben’s hand warmly and informed him that his name was Gwilym Lee, and was going to be playing Brian May. Ben greeted him with a matching smile and told him he was playing Roger Taylor. A few minutes before they were set to start two men came strolling into the room, chatting animatedly with one another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one on the left,” Gwilym informed him, “Is Rami Malek. He’s playing Freddie Mercury.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the one on the left” he paused, “is Joe Mazzello, he’s playing John Deacon…” Ben tuned out after that, he was too busy taking in the faces before him to fully pay attention to what his new co-worker/friend was telling him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two looked like they had known each other previously, and were catching up quickly, but the conversation petered off upon entering the room. The man named Joe tapped the man named Rami on the arm and gestured for them to sit across the table from Gwilym and him. Joe took the seat across from Ben, while Rami grabbed the seat across from Gwil. They both smiled warmly and stuck out their hands. The minute Joe smiled in Ben’s direction, his heart stuttered and skipped one beat-almost unnoticeable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh my God, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>smile</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben was going to die because oh my God he was going to have to look at that smile every day and it looked like literal freaking sunshine. He was pretty sure he was close to dying, but he made a quick recovery and shook his hand, smiling brightly back at him. He shook Rami’s and already knew with certainty that this was going to be a great team of guys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all went out to dinner that night to get to know each other, and something weird started to happen to Ben. Every time Joe laughed at something funny, or smiled at Ben, he swore he could feel the hole in his chest fill up a little more with every happy sound the man emitted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Ben got scared. Because this person, who he’d only known for less than 24 hours, had already started to fix him and complete him like no other person had ever done before. And Ben didn’t even know barely anything about the man! He was confused and pretty damn sure this wasn’t supposed to be happening but did his best to take it in stride. He told himself not to rush and jump too fast into something and someone he didn’t know. But even the way he looked, Ben thought, was so brilliant-like artwork. Bouncy and funny and warm, his eyes were hazel with flecks of color that seemed to mimic his personality, and were filled with light and mirth, Everything about him seemed to pull him in like the pull of a black hole, and Ben knew that nothing escaped its grasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so within the first 24 hours of meeting the man named Joseph Mazzello, he knew two things with utter certainty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One, the man was the most confounding, loud, and happy bright ball of energy Ben had ever met, and secondly, Ben really, really liked him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One could have even dared to call it love. But he wasn’t going to think about that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Ben emerged from his deep-dive into his boarded-up memories, he was pretty sure he felt even worse now than before. He knew a few things, and the truth of these things had solidified more and more as he opened himself up to his thoughts. So Ben warily laid out the facts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One, he was afraid. Terrified actually. And he wasn’t sure exactly why he was so scared yet, but he was sure he would soon discover why-his brain wasn’t willing to give up the information it had guarded so carefully all these years so easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two he was in love with Joe. That he knew with a certainty that both calmed him and petrified him at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And three, he was pretty sure he was bisexual. Ohhhh boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the weight of these realizations all laid out together, everything started clicking into place and slotting together like puzzle pieces, and Ben almost loathed how well they seemed to fit. A part of himself that had been desperately ignored was now abruptly thrown into the light for the first time ever, and the confrontation was blinding. These thoughts weighed heavy in his mind, crushing against his skull, and were trying to shatter through his cranium and come pouring out his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He was sure he was going to drown in them if they did, and so he shut his eyes tightly and clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t need to see that part of himself yet, though when he did it would not be materialistic, but all the same, he could still save </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> discoveries for another day. It seemed he had time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben felt sick, a mixture of things were probably contributing to his nausea, (food and the slight internal homophobia, he assumed) but he wasn’t willing to admit that most of the sickness he felt was not brought on by the lingering hangover. He rushed to the bathroom and crouched over the cold porcelain bowl, his body heaving. Up came his half-cooked breakfast, light night’s whiskey, and the deep-rooted self-deprecation. Up came the thoughts that always simmered below the surface, and the loneliness, and the images of the person he knew he loved. Up came his heart that had seemed to climb up his throat and up came the sobs he forced down because he couldn’t cry. Up came his silent screams and his insecurities and his hopes and dreams. Up came the blackness and up came the color he’d tried so hard to hind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, when he was sure his body could take no more, his breathing returned to normal and his chest unconstricted. He slumped over and laid his head on the cold bleached tiles of the bathroom floor, and tried to ignore the germs that were most likely crawling all over him right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he flushed the toilet, he shut his eyes tightly. He was worried that if he opened them, he would find color where vomit should be. Everything that had poured up his throat-actual objects or not- he was sure he would find, and he didn’t want to face it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After wiping the sweat beading on his forehead, and swishing his mouth hurriedly with mouthwash, Ben made his way out of the bathroom on shaky but sure legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that he was thinking metaphorically Ben realized, what he had just flushed down the drain were the things he was most scared of. The things he was scared of admitting and finding and realizing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And by doing this small act, Ben felt free for the first time in a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so these memories and thoughts became the immovable stone building blocks Ben used to redesign his world and his reality. What he was going to build for himself would be beautiful, and full of the things that he wanted to and could do. He didn’t have to be scared, and he could be who he wanted to be and live the kind of life that he’d wanted to live forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But before Ben could start fixing himself any more than he already had, he was going to need to buy himself a plane ticket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was going to fly across the world to go find his best friends, meet up with them, and hopefully (finally!) admit his feelings for his ginger-haired castmate if everything went according to plan. And, with any luck, his feelings would be returned and Ben would live happily ever after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just prayed he had the strength to finally do it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p>
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